


Thank You For The Demons

by Kuukkeli



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drugs, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, MTMTE, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sticky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-05 07:57:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1811047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuukkeli/pseuds/Kuukkeli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against everyone's beliefs, Drift hasn't let go of his past demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Minor OCs.

“Take it. Take it, Decepticon, or I’ll shove it down your throat!”

Drift turned his face to the side, his optics closed. This was beyond humiliating! He was onboard Lost Light, the pride of the Autobot air ship armada and he was treated like a buymech. Sure he had experienced such things back in Dead End but he wasn’t there anymore. He. Was. On. Board. Lost. Fucking. Light.

Combo and Swiftkick, two weapon specialists, had surprised him just entering his office to write down the reports Ultra Magnus wanted to be done by the end of the day. The two mechs snagged his swords and tossed them across the floor of the room, tied his arms behind his back, forced the smaller mech onto his desk on his back and finally tied his ankles against his thighs. And that had resulted to this.

Swiftkick placed himself between Drift’s quivering legs, marveling the sight while Combo walked around the desk to stand in front of the white mech. Swiftkick pushed Drift enough so his head hanged from the edge of the desk, leaving his face in a vulnerable position.

The white mech reluctantly opened his mouth but before he could do so properly, Combo jerked his hips forward and the huge spike slipped past the pale lips. The sheer size of the spike almost tore the soft metal of Drift’s cheeks and the strain to his jaw was at least uncomfortable. And if that wasn’t enough, Combo wrapped his large palm and long fingers around Drift’s neck, squeezing it to keep the white mech’s head in place.

At the same time when Combo made his move, Swiftkick thrust his spike in that unprepared and dry valve, howling at the tight sensation that engulfed his shaft.

“Nnh... Yes, that’s it, little Decepticon~” Combo hissed, driving his spike deeper in Drift’s mouth, eventually hitting the roof of the smaller mech’s throat. “Don’t purge. Otherwise I’ll make you swallow it back down.” Drift groaned in discomfort and pain which the brutal duo took as a moan of pleasure. “Ghahahaa, you like this, you dirty Deceptislut!” Swiftkick laughed, snapping his hips forward.

He was practically thrusting his way through the swordsmech’s valve. Every powerful thrust drew more energon from the valve to gush out and pool on the floor. And my Primus, it _hurt so much_!

The weapon specialists showed no mercy for poor Drift, no matter how much he whimpered and squirmed. It just threw more fuel to their sick fire. “Hahhaa! Beg and moan, you filthy ‘con. No-one’s gonna come and save you. If you just behave like a good little third-in-command, we just might be gentler with you.”

From Swiftkick’s voice you could hear the built-up hatred and grudge against Decepticons and Drift being one – although a former one – was a good substitute for them to throw it all on him.

Transfluids seeped between Drift’s lips and Combo’s spike, as well as from the other end. Some of those fluids trickled down his face and over his optics, stinging the sensitive optical components, forcing him to shut his optics tight.

Suddenly, Drift felt something snap in his throat, his optics growing wider.

The torture lasted for Primus knows how long, the swordsmech had no idea, when he heard someone coding the door to his office open. ‘Don’t come in!’ he screamed inside his head but it was too late.

“By the Tyrest Accord, what are you two doing?” bellowed Ultra Magnus’ voice in the room.

The two mechs quickly retreated, tucking their spikes back to their casing. As the spike was pulled out of his mouth, Drift started coughing violently to get the transfluids out of his mouth and throat.

The blue mech yanked Combo and Swiftkick away from Drift. “Faces towards the wall!” Ultra Magnus was furious. Imagine; he has done so much hard work for the order on this blasted ship and now he walked in on two mechs... doing what was mildly described as repulsive and cruel to one of the ship’s commanders.

Slapping stasis cuffs on the duo’s wrists, he ensured they wouldn’t do anything stupid anymore. He then freed Drift; first he untied the legs and then lifted him to sit up and lastly untied his arms and carefully assisted them to rest on Drift’s lap. Once satisfied with Drift’s ability to sit on the desk, the SIC turned to Combo and Swiftkick who still stood against the wall. “You two shall face a hard time in the brig”, he spoke in a deep, menacing voice.

He helped Drift to stand up, securing so he wouldn’t tumble down and after picking up the three swords, he took the poor mech to Rodimus, Combo and Swiftkick walking ahead of him. The expression on that pale face was blank, unreadable. Apparently he was in such a shock that he couldn’t express anything.

Arriving at the Rodimus’ office, the large mech announced his arrival and stepped in, Combo and Swiftkick staying outside.

“Captain.”

The tone caught the orange mech’s attention and he swirled around on his chair to see Ultra Magnus supporting Drift upright. There were still transfluids all over his face, crotch area and energon leaking from his valve.

“What the hell happened to him?” Rodimus gasped.

“He was taken against his will.” That was probably the only decent term for ‘rape’ Ultra Magnus knew.

The captain rose from his chair and rushed to his best friend. “Drift?” His hands hovered over the red shoulders, afraid to touch, afraid not to touch.

Ultra Magnus eased his hold from Drift, though keeping his hands on his shoulders to prevent him from toppling over. “Can you walk?” He liked Drift by no means but dammit, he sure was worried!

All he got for a reply was a slow nod.

Drift teetered to take a seat in front of Rodimus’ desk, his head bowed and shoulders hunched in shame.

Leaving the swords to lean against the wall, Ultra Magnus vented a heavy sigh and dismissed himself to take the two guilty mechs to the prig.

Finally in peace. Rodimus sat back down to his chair, his optics fixated to Drift.

“Do you want to talk about it?” the orange mech asked after a long period of quiet time.

A head shake.

“Very well.”

Again, crushing silence fell into the office.

“Guess I deserved it for what I’ve done.” Drift’s voice wasn’t his. It was way too deep, scratchy and laced with static. It barely carried to Rodimus’ audios but the other mech heard it, nonetheless.

Slamming his hands to his desk, the larger mech bounced up from his chair. “Frag it, Drift! You’ve done nothing on this fragging ship to deserve such treatment! Yes, you’ve been a Decepticon and I don’t want to know what you’ve done during that time but that doesn’t matter anymore and you’ve been forgiven time after time! There’s no reason to dwell in self-pity and think every single thing you do gives someone the right to punish you! Those times are over and long gone!”

Drift flinched, withdrawing to himself, looking like a scared sparkling.

The captain massaged his optical ridge, immediately regretting for shouting at the mech. “I... I’m sorry I yelled. I’m not mad at you but at those who have made you think like that about yourself. You’re my best friend and... and I don’t want anything bad happen to you. I want to keep you safe.”

The white mech didn’t say anything to that so Rodimus figured he agreed.

He rounded the desk, took a cleaning cloth out from his subspace, kneeling down in front of his TIC. “May I?” he asked, searching for optic contact. When he got no reply, he slowly began to clean the mess from Drift’s face. First around the optics, then the cheeks and lips and lastly the forehead. “There. That’s better, right?” Rodimus tried to stay positive but it was proving to be hard when the white mech looked so miserable.

After throwing the dirty cloth to the waste disposal unit, the orange mech walked back to Drift and closed him into a warm embrace, feeling the smaller body tense up. “I’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you anymore”, he whispered, planting a gentle kiss on Drift’s forehead. Though, the white mech shied away, uttering a whimper. “Please, don’t.”

“It’s all right. Um... if you want to clean yourself properly, you can use my wash racks. During that, I’ll comm. Perceptor to pick you up.”

With that, Drift struggled towards the wash racks, wincing at the pain. It hurt with every step and energon dribbled down, forming a nasty trail across the floor. The sight pulled at Rodimus’ spark. He took a quick glance at the chair Drift had sat on; there was a small puddle of energon on it... and he quickly turned his gaze away.

In the wash rack, Drift stood under the faucet, the falling cleansing agent thrumming against his body. Leaning his forehead to the wall, a choked sob escaped his vocalizer. He covered his face and fell on his knees, the sobs getting louder and louder. He tried to calm down in the fear of Rodimus hearing but he just couldn’t stop. He punched the wall, crushing his right hand knuckles. But that didn’t take the pain away.

Hearing the ruckus in the racks, the captain rushed to the door and it slid open.

There he was, on his knees, sobbing, fist connected to the wall which had received shallow dents, his knuckles crushed... and energon still streaming to the drain. Rodimus didn’t dare say anything. Instead, he closed the distance between him and the swordsmech, kneeling down.

“Oh, Drift. What the world has done to you to get you into this...” It wasn’t a question. He shut the faucet and wrapped his arms around the smaller body, cradling him closer, giving a comforting kiss on the pale cheek.

“Rodimus?”

Ah, Perceptor arrived.

“In here. And while you’re still there, could you bring the heating tarp along with you. It’s on my berth.”

The scientist did as he was asked and followed the voice and gasped when he saw Drift. Rodimus gazed up at Perceptor and reached out for the tarp to wrap it around the smaller mech who had started to shiver.

“My goodness! What happened?” he asked, joining the huddle, although not taking the swordsmech into his arms but rather placing his hand on the shivering back.

“Drift can explain himself. Right now, we need to get him to Ratchet.”

“I don’t... I don’t... I don’t want to go back...” His voice was growly and full of static, making it hard to hear what he said.

“Don’t want to go back... where?” the orange mech asked softly, keep Drift close to his body. Though, Perceptor already knew what Drift meant by ‘going back’ but he didn’t want to push it and say it out loud.

Drift hated himself. He loathed himself. He despised himself for being so weak. For not being able to fight those two larger mechs. For being a coward. For being a guttermech. For being worthless. He wanted to be alone and dwell in self-pity. He made feeble attempts to push Rodimus away but somehow he didn’t have the strength to do that, whimpering as doing so.

Rodimus held his TIC closer and got up on his feet. Ex-venting a heavy sigh, the scientist followed the captain to the medbay, carrying the swords Drift couldn’t live without.


	2. Chapter 2

Ratchet was arranging his tools and equipment when the buzzer sounded. He pressed a button on the console to unlock the door, turning around who was coming to his appointment so late to the day.

He wasn’t surprised to see Drift enter but what he was surprised about was that he was carried in Rodimus’ arms and escorted by Perceptor. Normally when the white mech came to the medbay, he walked there on his own, no matter if his leg was dislocated at the hip or he was covered in deep gashes all over his body.

But this time it was different. A whole lot different.

“Where has he wallowed?” the medic grunted, preparing an examination berth for Drift to lie on.

Perceptor whispered one word to the grumpy mech and pieces locked into place. “I see. Well, I’ll do what I can right now.”

Rodimus lowered Drift to lie on the berth, straightening himself but not budging from where he stood.

“You might want to leave once I start my examinations”, Ratchet spoke, gathering all the necessary equipment he needed. Rodimus gave a stern face. “I’m not leaving.”

Shrugging, Ratchet lifted Drift’s legs up on the stirrups, spreading them apart.

“Knock me out, Ratchet.” The words escaped Drift’s lips slowly and without the weightlessness they usually bore. Now they were heavy with shame, guilt and something else Ratchet wasn’t so sure about. “Knock me out”, the white mech repeated.

Obeying the request, the medic went to the cabinet, picked a syringe and a sterile needle and walked back to Drift. He searched a proper fuel line from Drift’s arm, pushed the needle in and waited until the contents of the syringe were emptied to the fuel line. “It’ll take a moment for the sedative to kick in.”

“H... how lllllllll-” The swordsmech couldn’t manage to voice the words until he offlined, his in- and ex-vents becoming quiet and steady, the calm sound relaxing the mechs around him.

“Okay. Let’s get started, shall we.” Ratchet began with Drift’s valve which he considered to be the part of his patient that needed his attention first. Pressing the manual hatch so the panel would open, he took a close look. Once the panel slid completely out of the way, Perceptor saw the damage and quickly tore his gaze away. “Oh, no...” he gasped, his hand covering his mouth in horror.

The captain grimaced and turned his optics away, as well.

“I think you want to leave _now_?”

Perceptor made a hasty leave out of the medbay and Rodimus followed him, hearing a loud sob in the corridor.

Ratchet had seen much worse happened to interface equipment but this one struck hard. It was Drift. And... over the time, the medic had made friends with the kid. Their friendship ran deep between them. Ever since when Ratchet was still a young medic, when he saved Drift’s – then a young junkie’s – life in the dark streets of Dead End, when he saved him in Delphi... That friendship got ever stronger.

He narrowed his optics as he examined the damages; a small tear between the valve lips, bits and pieces visible which shouldn’t been visible like that. Large spike, forced penetration without preparation. He then glanced up to look at the smaller mech’s face. “Oh, kid...” was all he could say right now.

Starting with the tear, Ratchet cleaned the area and began to stitch the torn rubber appendage back to its original state. Next up was the valve which had taken the worst hit – he felt around the walls and there were nodes and calibers loose but not completely come off.

His thoughts wandered to Dead End, to Rodion... All those occasions he had saved the lad’s life. Although, this was no life-threatening situation but... it still counted. Drift may not be the one to ‘pay a visit’ to the medbay the most but he damn sure was the most grateful! After the incident with Pharma in Delphi, Ratchet had experienced Drift’s gratitude very... well, first-handed as the white mech had proven how grateful he was towards the medic for saving his life.

A smile spread on Ratchet’s face as he recalled the _physical_ proofs he had been presented after his long shift one quiet night.

Returning back to the task at hand, the medic finished repairing the bits and pieces. He took a rug which he soaked with antibacterial liquid and carefully eased it in the valve with surgical tongs, giving them a gentle flip around the valve walls. Changing the rug and the tongs to another, he applied oil-like salve which should numb the throbbing feeling to the valve.

He then recalled the white mech’s voice wasn’t the one he was used to hear so he scanned the vocalizer. Finding nothing he could do about to, he decided to make a note about that nonetheless, should there be any changes to Drift’s voice.

The rest would be up to Drift’s own autorepair to deal with.

Ratchet’s back gave a quiet crack under the sudden movement as he moved the unconscious mech to another berth. “Frag, why First Aid and Ambulon both had to have their day-offs _today_?” he grumbled, ignoring the warning that had appeared into his vision, pushing the uncomfortable feeling in his back strut to the back of his head.

He didn’t matter; Drift’s well-being was more important right now.

\----

“Is he all right?” the orange mech asked, keeping his optics fixed on the recharging mech, well aware the fact Perceptor was fidgeting under the pressure to ask the very same question.

“Well... he is physically. Mentally, not so sure.” Ratchet wasn’t going to sugarcoat it – the situation was what it was. Period. “Would be wise to contact Rung regarding this”, he added.

Perceptor sighed, taking a seat next to the berth, brushing his hand against the pale cheek and stroking the finial. “I don’t think he’d go to a psychiatrist. He isn’t the type to talk about his issues openly. He’d rather handle them himself, in his own way.”

Ratchet huffed at that. “If he decides to go on a rampage because he had a bad memory feedback, I ain’t taking the responsibility for that.”

“You wouldn’t have to. I’ll keep an optic on him”, the red mech shot back, his optics hiding irritation and worry in them.

Rodimus leaned against the threshold, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m in. After all, I’m the captain and I should be able to take care of my crew.” Perceptor nodded at that, thankful for the offered help – he’d need it.

The white mech stirred, his head lolling to the side slowly, listening the voices around him. He opened his optics, the blue light flickering in them. “Nnh...” he groaned at the stiffness of his body. How long had he been out?

Ratchet moved closer. “How are you feeling, kid? Beside the buzz in your head?”

Drift blinked his optics for a moment, to make something out of his surroundings. “Fine, I guess”, the voice raspy and gruff.

Realizing how he sounded, the swordsmech slammed one hand over his mouth. “Is that... Is that my voice?” he mumbled through his fingers, horrified for sounding like... sounding like _him_.

“Yes. But your autorepair will take care of it, don’t worry”, replied the medic. ‘I hope’, he admitted to himself.

“Is he able to leave medbay yet today?” the scientist broke the awkward tension Drift and Ratchet obviously shared through optic contact.

“Yes”, was the quick reply. Ratchet stepped forward to help Drift to sit up carefully.

The white mech winced the very instant his weight shifted from his whole body to his pelvis. “Doesn’t... feel right...” he growled.

The red and white mech took a firm grasp from the smaller mech’s forearms. “You’re doing well. Now up you go on your feet.” Together with Perceptor he managed to get Drift on his feet. His legs were still feeling numb, making standing up hard. Rodimus came to his left side, wrapping his arm around the waist, taking most of the swordsmech’s weight on him.

Perceptor rushed to Drift’s right side, making sure their way to Perceptor’s hab suite was safe. Ratchet saw it fitting to put the twin swords back into those scabbards and the Great Sword into its sheath.

“If anything occurs, let me know”, Ratchet called out as the trio exited the medbay.

\----

“You think you can sit and lay down by yourself?” the orange mech asked when they arrived to Perceptor’s hab suite and his berth.

The white mech just shook his head, the slight throbbing pain in his valve indicating him not to.

So the two larger mech changed his position; Perceptor looped his arms under Drift’s armpits and Rodimus took his legs.

“Okay. On three. One. Two. Three.”

Once lying on the berth, Drift turned his back to the two mechs, messaging to be left alone. Perceptor wanted to stay but the captain didn’t allow that. “He needs to be alone for now”, he whispered when he saw the other’s face. “He’ll let us know if he wants company.”

Drift was left in the dark room to swim in his black thoughts that seemed to swallow him whole. Shivering, he closed his optics, letting exhaustion take him, lulling him into a recharge. He didn’t care the blade on his back pressed against the curvy plating, slitting a little the surface.

\----

The red mech’s recharge was disturbed. The mech next to him moved restlessly, muttering and occasionally groaning.

“Turmo-” Drift’s face twisted into a grimace of pain.

Perceptor sat up, reaching for the red spaulder... And that moment the blue optics flew open, the black fingers scrabbling for the hilt of a sword. The next thing the larger mech knew, he was on his back and a sharp blade pressed against his throat.

“Drift?” he addressed, keeping his voice as neutral as possible.

The blue gaze snapped to stare at him, piercing, cold, full of emotions Perceptor couldn’t name.

“Don’t call me that loser. Ever again.” Every word was punctuated with the blade pressing deeper against the vital fuel lines.

“Wh- What is going on, Drift?”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!”

The sword was struck next to Perceptor’s head, the tip sinking to the berth.

Drift jumped down the berth, ignoring completely the pain in his valve. He slipped out the door as it so much opened. Perceptor slowly sat back up again, feeling his body shiver violently. He looked at the sword that jutted from the berth.

Those weren’t Drift’s optics. And that definitely wasn’t his voice, either.

He didn’t know what to do. To contact Rodimus? Ratchet? His hands were shaking and his vocalizer had fallen mute. Walking to his console, he dialed a number he never thought he’d use.

A long, stretched silence.

 _“Perceptor. What gives me the honor to speak with you at this hour?”_ the mech on the screen rumbled, clearly just woken up from his recharge.

“I think I need your help, Cyclonus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, what a cliffhanger! Huehuehue~
> 
> I think the voice for Drift/Deadlock would sound like [this](http://vocaroo.com/i/s04qh4t9Hy0s).


	3. Chapter 3

Drift ran the corridors without a destination. He was scared, confused and above all, furious. How did that Autobot _dare_ call him ‘Drift’? He wasn’t that loser anymore. He was Megatron’s elite warrior!

Finally, after running aimlessly, he stopped and leaned against the wall. His legs felt weak and he slid down the cold wall on the floor. “What am I doing here amongst Autobots? Why can’t I remember?” he muttered.

His train of thoughts was interrupted by approaching footsteps. Picking himself up quickly, Drift lifted his right hand on the hilt of his left side sword. Damn, where were his guns?

“Yo, Drift!”

Why did everyone call him that?! His patience was slowly but steadily growing thin after all the effort he had spent to calm down.

“What are you doin’ down here?” Whirl inquired, invading Drift’s personal space by shoving his face close to the white mech’s.

“One step closer and you’ll lose that ugly mug of yours”, the shorter mech growled, his voice bearing a clear threat. “If you can call that a one, that is”, he added, sneering.

“Hey, woah! That’s harsh”, the blue mech chided. “Didn’t know you had such a bad mouth. Anyways, you didn’t answer my question: whatcha doin’ here?”

Drift leered at Whirl, trying to come up with a decent answer.

“You got any boosters?” Ah, yes. The usual answer; answer question with a question. So very Deadlock.

“I... thought you were clean from that kind of stuff?”

“Pheh. None of your business”, the white mech spat back.

Actually, Drift – or rather, Deadlock – boosted whenever he was feeling anxious and stressed. And now was one of those moments. Drift was completely clean but you couldn’t say the same about Deadlock.

“So? Got any or not?”

Whirl smirked – it was visible in his glowing optic – and gestured the other to follow him. He wasn’t so fond of Drift and he still was looking for pay back for that punch the swordsmech had landed on his face quite some time ago. And it seemed now it was a perfect opportunity for that.

The mischievous mech led Drift to his hab suite, rummaged through his cabinets and found what he was looking for.

“Circuit boosters, right here. Take as many as you want”, he winked, offering a box full of boosters.

Drift took one and put it in his subspace. With that, he left without a thank you.

\----

_“Deadlock?”_

“Yes. Tell me everything you know about him”, the scientist demanded.

 _“I never met him in person so all I know are based on rumors. I don’t think they’ll help you any better”_ , Cyclonus replied, slight irritation coloring his tone.

“I don’t care. Just tell me.” Perceptor felt his own anger bubbling to surface.

The purple mech sighed. _“Fine. But just to warn you, you won’t like it.”_

\----

Finally some peace in his own hab suite.

The white mech put the remaining two swords to lean against the wall and slumped on his berth, fiddling with the small container in his fingers. A hatch on the top his head slid open and he jammed the booster in, immediately feeling the wonderful sensation of the booster spreading in his body. Lying on his back, his limbs twitched delightfully, making him feel so much alive and yet... so numb.

His body fell motionless as his optics stared at the bland ceiling, focusing on nothing. His thoughts stopped running, his mind quiet.

So this was how it felt to be high again, huh? All numb and unable to move... Vulnerable to any attack... His tank gave an unpleasant twist and the next thing he knew he was purging his tank. He then heard a knock on his door.

“Dri-Deadlock? Are you in there?” the red mech asked on the other side of the door. He thought he’d return the sword to the sword rack to its rightful place. Hearing the loud sounds of retching, he pressed the familiar code to open the door. “You all right?”

The white mech had his back turned to Perceptor, his ribstruts fluttering from the strain of purging. “What does it l-” Another violent gag, trails of thick mucus dangling from the pale lips. “What does it look like?” Drift growled, spitting the trails to accompany the puddle on the floor.

Pushing himself to sit back up, Drift swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, only ending up having the mucus spread on his cheek. “Frag...” he muttered.

Perceptor hesitated for a moment before stepping forth, taking a cloth from his subspace. “Here, let me help.” Instead, the swordsmech snatched the cloth from his hand. “I don’t need your help”, he hissed.

The scientist wasn’t having any of that. Grabbing the red spaulders, he pushed the smaller mech down to the berth. “Yes, you need! Drift, listen to me!”

“I SAID NOT TO CALL ME THAT!”

A black fist flung towards Perceptor’s head and hit the right side of his head, shattering the reticle into glimmering pieces. But the red mech didn’t falter, being heavier than the mech beneath him, he managed to keep his position. He’d take any pain that was coming to him. He’d take it for Drift.

Drift thrashed and bucked to get free but his wrists were quickly pinned above his head, his legs squeezed together between strong thighs. It felt just like it did in...

“NO! GET OFF OF ME! GET OFF!”

“Drift, listen!” Perceptor’s voice was commanding but gentle despite the situation. Someone had to be in charge of this. To be rational, collected, calm.

His optics darted to the container still attached to Drift’s head. He yanked it off, sparks flying from the exposed circuitry, causing the mech to shriek and his body to jerk. Perceptor covered the twitching mech with his body, letting go of the wrists, his hand cupping the white face.

“Stop it. Please, Deadlock”, he whispered, his optics dim.

Drift whimpered in the aftershocks, his cooling systems hitching and whirring. He lifted his hands to touch the scientist’s face but they flopped back down, completely drained from any kind of strength.

“I know.”

“What?” the smaller mech asked, his voice feeble.

“I know your past. And... and I want to help you. I want you to be happy again. To be able enjoy life”, Perceptor murmured, stroking the smooth cheek, his gaze filled with growing hope.

“Who told you?” The voice was as sharp as his swords, cutting like a razor blade.

“Does it matter?”

Perceptor was pushed up, the swordsmech sliding his legs from beneath him. “Go.”

The request was crystal clear and the larger mech moved off Drift. Drawing his knees close to his chest, Drift buried his face against his knees, his arms wrapped around them.

“I returned your sword”, he said before exiting the room.

Feeling the self-loath beginning to boil within him, Drift curled up tighter, a choked scream erupted from his vocalizer, the source much deeper.

\----

Perceptor arrived to his own hab suite. Shuffling through the lab, his mind raced after and around solutions of how he’d help Drift. His reticle was shattered and fallen on the floor of Drift’s berth room but that was one of the least problems he had right now. The reticle was replaceable but the white mech’s mental health wasn’t.

Climbing on his berth, the scientist fell into troubled recharge.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we can have the smut. Included one of my fetishes here; the leg worshipping (not to be confused with foot fetish) even though it's only a short time but meh. :'D

“How’s Drift?” Ambulon asked Perceptor, his voice carrying clear, earnest worry, as he attached a new reticle to its place. He and First Aid were briefed by Ratchet when they came to medbay this morning so he knew about Drift’s situation but was completely oblivious of his... Deadlock-moments – as was Ratchet.

The scientist measured his hands, thinking what would be the best answer. “He’s... been better. I hadn’t heard of him this morning yet”, he admitted.

The nurse nodded and double-checked the reticle was firmly in place. “All right, that’s that. I still wonder why you didn’t come here when it was shattered.”

Perceptor chose not to reply to that. Instead, he thanked Ambulon and left the medbay.

\----

The red mech decided to pay a visit to Drift, to make sure he was okay. He pressed in the code and stepped in. The room was dark and it smelled bad – the white mech hadn’t bothered to clean the mucus puddle next to his berth. “Deadlock?” he called, feeling the fear lifting its head. He was tempted to say ‘Drift’ but was afraid of the possible consequences. He looked around to see the familiar form lying on the berth, back turned to him.

“Go away.”

The voice was much gruffer than yesterday and it sent shivers of unpleasant pleasure through Perceptor’s body. Now it definitely wasn’t the time!

“Have you refueled yet?” he questioned carefully, standing near the berth. “We could go to Swerve’s if you’d like.”

After not getting any reply, he sat on the edge of the berth, turning to face the other. “You should-” he rebooted his vocalizer, “You should refuel. You haven’t had any energon since last evening.”

The white mech remained silent, instead a warning growl rumbled from his engine, hinting the scientist to leave while he still could. Not budging from his spot, Perceptor was determined to get a response out of the other mech. “Please, Drift. Say something!” he pleaded, placing his slightly shivering hand on the red spaulder which was shaken off with force.

“Don’t touch me!” Drift roared, spinning around face to face with the red mech.

So, this was what Deadlock looked like; a deep scowl and the mouth twisted into a snarl.

Perceptor backed off, holding his hand close to his chest. “What’s happened to you?” he whispered, despair swirling in his gaze, his EM field multiplying the emotion. “Tell me.”

Drift’s scowl softened as he felt the pressing field against his own, retracting his field away.

“Leave me alone”, he barked and stormed out, leaving the helpless scientist behind.

\----

Rodimus startled at the sudden buzz from his door. He expected the whoever was behind the door to come in but when no one entered, he went to check if this was another prank Whirl had pulled.

He was surprised to see Drift standing at the door this early, his head bowed to hide his optics and shoulders hunched. Something was off.

“Can I have a word with you?” the white mech asked, his voice barely audible.

“Sure. Come in”, Rodimus said and stood aside to let the other step in. He watched as Drift wandered to his berth room and sat down, wringing his hands, his field _reeking_ of nervousness and hidden fear.

The orange mech lowered himself next to Drift, waiting for him to begin talking.

“I...” It was merely a squeak, the voice still gruff.

Drift didn’t give any warning as he lunged on top of Rodimus, his lips searching for the other’s, his hands roaming frantically over the orange and yellow plating. The mech beneath him tried to shove him off with no avail. He managed to push Drift enough to break the kiss.

“What are you doing?!”

“Please, Rodimus. I want you”, the swordsmech panted, his hands groping the seams on Rodimus’ chest and waist, grinding his pelvis against the orange one.

“No. No you don’t”, Rodimus said, authority strong in his voice, taking a firm grip on Drift’s wrists, showing him he was serious. “Not like this.”

Drift felt rejection and shame wash over him, his optics wide and bright, almost white like suns. He collapsed on top of Rodimus, his whole body trembling in held back sobs, a choked whimper slipping from his vocalizer. “I don’t know what to do! I’m so broken!” he wailed, his fingers curling against the yellow chest, scratching the paint. “I’m so broken”, he repeated, his voice lost under the sobbing.

Rodimus wrapped his arms around Drift, holding him, kissing the crest. “We’ll get through this, I promise.”

The white mech growled, squirming out of his embrace to sit up. “No! You don’t understand! I nearly killed Perceptor! I snapped back to Deadlock! I boosted! I’m broken, Rodimus! Bro. Ken”, he shouted, hitting the chest beneath him with his clenched fists, punctuating the last word.

The captain allowed the sudden outburst to be taken on him, closing his optics in sympathy. It hurt him to see Drift like this as much as it hurt Drift himself, his spark giving a painful throb in its chamber. He finally closed the other mech against his body, kissing the finial, his hands stroking and petting the shivering winglets and back.

After a while, Rodimus heard Drift’s vents become calmer and steadier, implying the white mech had calmed down. The stress must’ve been too much for him, the orange mech thought.

Drift really should see Rung...

They remained quiet for quite some time before Rodimus cycled a sigh. “You know, you’re released from your duties until further notice. I’ll do your shifts during that time.” He could feel the tension that took Drift’s body but he was right. Drift wouldn’t be able to work, not when his mentality was so unstable.

The white mech gave a nod to that. He got off of Rodimus and left, his mind at unease with darkness.

\----

The following week wasn’t easy on Drift at all. He was starting to feel delusional and to see waking dreams. His body was suffering from lack of recharge. One positive thing there was, though; Drift remembered to refuel. Otherwise the swordsmech would’ve ended up in the medbay ages ago to be force fed.

Perceptor had been watching the other mech the whole week; the once bright and blue optics were now dim and deep in their sockets and the happy gleam disappeared. Drift was but a shadow of his former self and he had distanced himself from Perceptor, all because of shame. He didn’t dare to even look at the scientist – he just couldn’t.

Not when he felt like this.

\----

The white mech was sitting alone in Swerve’s, the small mech closing the bar.

“Are you gonna leave or...?” Swerve asked while cleaning a class with a rug.

Drift glanced at the other mech and took the last of his drink. “Sorry. I just... got lost in thoughts”, he replied quietly and got to his feet.

Walking out, he met Perceptor, casting his gaze to the floor immediately, his shoulders hunching. “Hi, Perceptor.” His voice was still gruff and raspy but better than before.

“Hello, Drift”, the red mech greeted back, “How are you feeling?” The question was sincere.

The white mech squirmed slightly. “’m Fine.” What a big, fat lie.

“Can I join you?”

“I’m just going to my hab suite, nothing more”, the smaller mech answered, almost snapping at the other.

“I’ll repeat my question: can I join you? You look like you need some company”, Perceptor said gently, reaching for Drift’s hand and twining their fingers together. A friendly and first and foremost _caring_ gesture.

Drift merely shrugged and started walking towards his hab suite, Perceptor in his wake.

\----

Once the two mechs were at the door of Drift’s hab suite, the white mech turned to Perceptor.

“Perceptor, I...” he started but the words got stuck in his vocalizer and never made it out.

The look on the red mech’s face was... expecting?

“I...”

Frag! Why this was so dam hard?

Before Drift got to say any more, the scientist placed one of his index fingers on those white lips, silencing him. “You don’t have to say it. I forgive you.”

The swordsmech could only stare at Perceptor in the optic and wrap his arms around his neck, burying his face into the larger mech’s neck.

“I forgive you”, Perceptor repeated, his voice barely a whisper.

Drift whimpered. “Can you really?” he asked, his voice choked.

Perceptor kissed the white crest, tightening his hold. “Yes.”

With that, the red mech fondled with the console and once the door slid aside, started walking forward, forcing Drift to stumble backwards. He could feel the sudden surprise and... panic? in the swordsmech’s EM field which he soothed away with gentle words.

They stopped until Drift’s back bumped against the wall, his body rattling slightly from both fear and anticipation. Why do I feel fear? I’m safe with him, he thought.

Perceptor took a knee before the shivering white mech, running his hands along the ribstruts, over the abdomen, down the pelvis to the luscious thighs. Inhaling the heady scent the scientist felt the piercing gaze following his every move intently.

So sacred. So divine. That’s what Drift was to him.

Coaxing Drift to lift his left leg to rest on his knee, the red mech brushed his hand up the leg, stopped for a brief moment on the knee and then gently moved to caress the dark inner thigh. The smaller mech sighed – it felt so good to be touched like this after what felt like an eternity and definitely after what he’d went through.

“You are so beautiful”, Perceptor murmured against the thigh, worshipping the mech standing in front of him, kissing the plating once. Twice. Thrice. He then got up, the leg falling off his knee, taking the dark hands into his own and guided the smaller mech to the berth. He sat down against the end of the berth, pulling Drift to sit on his lap, back against chest. “So beautiful...” he whispered again.

There the two mechs sat in silence, the larger mech’s arms around Drift’s torso, the swordsmech in Perceptor’s safe embrace. A low purring sound welled from the smaller mech, the vibrations travelling through him all the way to Perceptor.

Drift still felt the chaste kisses on his thigh, sparking something deeper within him, the sensation tingling up his leg to his spark. He shifted his legs enough so that the thighs were over Perceptor’s thighs, giving anyone watching a good view of his crotch. He then picked the larger mech’s right hand and guided it down to his pelvis. “Touch me”, he murmured, his optics locked to Perceptor’s.

There was no hesitation in Drift’s voice. He truly wanted this – not because he wanted to feel better but to feel Perceptor. His presence, his optics on him, his touch, his...

Perceptor traced the lines of the hatch and the seams nearby it, earning a soft grunt from the other, the white hips pushing up to the touch. The hatch opened beneath his fingers, the heat ghosting against them. Ever so gently, the fingers glided over the plush lips, exploring the moist area, eventually two of them dipping in.

“Nnh...”

“Everything all right?”

“Yeah... just feels so good... Keep... keep doing that~” the white mech moaned, his legs parting further.

Perceptor’s left hand rested on the dark, warm thigh as he marveled the creature in his lap, tipping his head to the palm that came up to cup his cheek.

He had a lapful of purring swordsmech grinding his valve against the black fingers, chasing after his overload. Perhaps he should give Drift this time what he wanted... The way Drift rode his fingers was utterly satisfying and arousing. Aligning his fingers anew, the red mech enhanced the amount of stimulus, the base of his thumb rubbing against the anterior node while the other two fingers were enveloped by the snugness.

Drift’s current world shrunk to those fingers and those fingers _only_.

“Please, Drift”, the red mech whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling as the charge kept building up inside him, “Give it to me. Please.”

That was all Drift needed to finish, fresh lubricant gushing out between the still probing fingers, his whole body trembling in bliss, his back arched.

As the lust ebbed away in waves, the swordsmech slumped back against the other, his vents cycling cool air. His optics were hazy, unable to focus on anything, the thumping of his spark hammering in his audios. Hearing a sigh next him, he lifted his head. “What about you?”

“Hm? Oh, I’m fine”, was the soft reply.

“But you didn’t-”

“Yes, but I can take care of that later”, the red mech said, planting a kiss on the white lips, savoring the faint taste of Drift.

The smaller mech didn’t take no for an answer and got off, turning around and lowering himself to loom over the black hips. He gave a meaningful glance at Perceptor before bowing his head kiss the heated plating.

The scientist flinched at that. “Seriously, Drift. You don’t have to-”

“I _want_ to.” Drift didn’t leave any room for argument as he continued working with the panel, kissing and licking the smooth surface. “I want to...” he purred.

With no other option, Perceptor opened the panel, his rigid spike jutting in front of Drift’s face, glistening with pre-transfluids. Locking his gaze with the larger mech, Drift parted his lips and swallowed the shaft in one go, bobbing his head back up only to repeat the act. Swirling his tongue over the tip, the white mech managed to break the serious expression on Perceptor’s face, smiling at that.

Humming in approval, Drift slipped his optics closed, enjoying the noises the other mech uttered, his left hand coming to touch the pelvis, palm flat against it, fingers spread while his other hand wandered down to knead his panel, the hatch opening and his erect spike gliding into his waiting hand.

The spike was freed, only to be attacked again, the skillful tongue tickling the sensitive biolights, seams and nodes.

At this point, Perceptor was losing it, moans and groans escaping his vocalizer, his hips bucking. “Dri... Drift...”

The said mech grinned at him. “Need something?”

“I didn’t tease you so it’d only be fair you didn’t either”, the red mech growled, though his tone bore no ill will.

Going back to work, Drift took the spike deep, sucking hard when coming back up, down and up, down and up until the larger mech couldn’t take it anymore. Feeling Perceptor was about to go off, Drift sealed his lips around the tip, his tongue as in trying to invade the slit, while forming a ring with his thumb and index finger, squeezing the shaft along the way down.

With a loud moan, Perceptor overloaded, transfluids bursting into Drift’s mouth.

Drift waited until he got everything he could, freeing the spike with a pop, his hand still working with his own hardness. The room was filled with the white mech’s soft mewls and gasps as he reached the peak of his climax, transfluids jetting from his spike in an arch.

Crawling back in Perceptor’s lap, his engine purring, the smaller mech shared one final kiss with the other mech.

“Can we... can we do that whenever either of us is feeling down?” Drift asked shyly.

“Only when the feeling is mutual. In other cases, it’s self-service”, was the blunt but warm reply.

“You’re so cruel”, the white mech pouted.

“There might be exceptions, though.”

The swordsmech nudged Perceptor’s chin with his head, settling comfortably in the warmth that the scientist was emitting.

“Are you feeling well? Over all, I mean”, Perceptor asked after the serene silence stretched between them.

Drift’s smile faded, his optics dimming. “I am now. Tomorrow? Don’t know. I guess this... dark feeling is destined to follow me forever... Though, it doesn’t feel so dark when I’m with you.”

“That’s... good to hear. I want you to know that whenever you’re not feeling fine, you can talk to me if the idea of talking to Rung doesn’t suit you.”

“Thanks, Percy”, the smaller mech mumbled, burying his face to the crook of Perceptor’s neck.

Thank you so much. For everything.


End file.
